


a broken thing mend

by CelticRune



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 18:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20475689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticRune/pseuds/CelticRune
Summary: A knight in shining armour has never had their metal truly tested.





	a broken thing mend

Jay’s armour is a mottled grey, chain rings scuffed and scratched. Every evening he takes it off, unbuckles straps and drops piece after piece unceremoniously to the ground. He rolls his shoulders once the weight is off, stretches his arms high and revels in the freedom of movement. His armour isn’t restrictive, he’s made it better than that, but it’s a heavy weight on his shoulders nonetheless.

He takes his time carefully cleaning off blood and mud, picking it out of every ring. He tallies the scuffs, the blemishes, mutters a quiet prayer over every time his craft saved his life that day. Gond is a quiet presence at the back of his mind, a steady awareness almost like a warm blanket settled over his shoulders. (_it should be heavier_ he thinks, but this has always been the easy part)

He sleeps, then, his glaive within easy reach but his armour set carefully aside. The last things he thinks of are the small repairs he’ll have to make when he gets back to town, the leather strap by his ribs that’s wearing thin, the small patch on his shoulder where a monster’s acid ate away at the metal.

He wakes, and settles into an easy meditation while he’s still half-asleep. The iron cog at his throat (rough, the metal only barely refined, not one of his prettier works but it seemed right) glows a molten silver, edges into the gold of white-hot metal. He wraps his fingers around it and they don’t burn, just tingle as a presence settles bone-deep and familiar. He’s not alone today. (he hasn’t been, not since _that _day)

He pulls his armour close, runs his fingers over each piece before he puts it on. The presence at the back of his mind hums, sits up. He traces patterns across the metal, no symbols he recognises but he knows the presence guiding his hand, feels the magic hum through his skin as lines of glowing silver flicker to life.

His hand stills, the lines fade. The metal is a mottled grey once more, utterly mundane if not for the magic he can still see when he blinks.

He tilts his head back and breathes, basking in the morning sun. A moment’s peace before he dons his armour, picks up his weapon, faces the world.

Jay is no knight. His armour is simple and plain, lacking any decoration that might identify it, or him. No craftsman’s mark, none of the signatures he left on his other work. Nothing but the tally of scuffs and blemishes, the shapes worn into his skin and the tips of his fingers. Nothing but the thrum of magic at the back of his mind, the pleased purr that made itself known years ago and never really left.

He wouldn’t have chosen to be a warrior. He knows the path he wishes his life would be on.

He blinks the magic out of his eyes, tunes back in to the sound of his allies waking up around him, and finds there’s nowhere else he wants to be.


End file.
